Still Learning
by Marzi
Summary: Someone on tumblr said that the end Alana/Freddie scene from ep 11, out of context, looks like Alana is just super happy that her girlfriend isn't dead. So here's some fic where that's the case.


**Still Learning**

Alana learned patience from her profession, and the similar, but distinct, trait of relentlessness from her girlfriend. Freddie had been dodging her for days, but the woman had finally come over to crash at her place last night. Alana had made sure to get up early and catch Freddie before she could leave without a word. She had been too kind, and let her sleep rather than interrogate her last night.

"Where are you going?"

Applesauce looked up, but didn't lift her head from the kitchen floor.

Freddie froze, shoes in one hand, purse in the other. She really had been trying to sneak out without a word. If Alana wasn't so angry, she might have had time to feel suspicious.

"I've got an interview."

"Don't have time for coffee?"

"I was going to get it on the drive."

She wasn't going to let it go that easily. "Don't have time for me?"

Applesauce slunk out of the room, head low.

"I've got a big story right now, once I've got it in we could spend a weekend together. Get away."

Most of the weekends following Freddie's new articles tended to involve a shit storm of hate mail, fan mail, and lawsuits. They were less getaways, and more bunking down until the mushroom cloud cleared. As they were, Alana had come to appreciate those weekends, just being locked up in a hotel room with Freddie and whatever they could order on room service and payperview. Hearing one get mentioned now sounded like a bribe, an attempt at a distraction.

"A big story about what?"

"Alana, I-"

"About Hannibal? Or Will?"

Freddie started to put on her shoes, not looking at her. "I told you I would never hold back my investigation just because you know them, just like you said you would never hold back your opinion of my articles."

"I'm not attacking your work."

"Not right now."

A bitter and still sore argument between them, but not their current topic of discussion.

She stood up, slamming her palms onto the table. "Damn it Freddie, stop trying to change the subject. Why won't you just talk to me?"

"Because you're not listening."

After the door slammed shut behind her, Alana dropped back into her chair. Applesauce crept back in to the room a moment later, resting her head against her thigh. She scratched the top of her dog's head, ignoring her sudden tears.

She was at the gun range Freddie liked to go to that afternoon when she got the call from Jack. Her whole body felt numb when she drove to the FBI building.

She couldn't understand what he told her, but she could clearly hear the screams coming from his phone.

Alana fled his office the moment Hannibal and Will arrived.

* * *

Freddie had always liked to say Alana had taught her about anger. About rage and righteousness. Being with Alana had helped her realize what it was she felt when she realized she could not let Abigail Hobbs go. It hadn't been just a good story. It had been anger about the loss of life, a kind of reaction she had thought she had shed long ago in her line of work.

It was hard to watch the anger she had so recently remembered be present in Alana because of her investigation of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

Blindness to the truth was something they both had a problem with, it was a flaw Freddie was willing to admit to privately. She hoped she would survive Jack Crawford's game long enough to share it with Alana. They both had a lot of learning left to do, hopefully together. If her faked death could ever be forgiven.

The picture Crawford had given her of Alana at her graveside had been a cold comfort. It didn't matter that she was still alive, the last memory Alana had of her was their fight. It could still be the last memory she had of her if things did not go well. If she died a second time, would anyone tell her? Would she be willing to mourn her again, after the lies?

The room she was being kept in reminded her of a cheap hotel, like the ones they rented on their weekends away. The small room and television weren't nearly as entertaining when she was on her own. Freddie didn't count the agents guarding her. Being holed up in a FBI safe house was almost as unnerving as being pulled through her car window by Will Graham.

When the call came just a day later to bring her in to headquarters, she didn't feel any relief. The game couldn't have played out already, they couldn't have had Lecter in custody.

Crawford wasn't there to tell her anything, and she knew better than to try and get information from any other source.

She could hardly breath when the door opened and Alana was let through. She stood as the silence grew. Had she been told anything before she stepping into the room? Was she going to be cold? Angry? Unresponsive?

"How was my funeral?"

When Alana started crying, a smile still present under her tears, Freddie bumped in to the table before she remembered she had to move around it to reach her. Alana didn't move towards her, but she threw her arms around her once she was in reach, pulling her close.

"God Freddie.. I'm listening, _I'm listening_, don't you ever do that again."

She hugged back just as fiercely, burying her face in her shirt. She wasn't going to give the FBI the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Relief almost had her shaking. If she was here, surely that meant she was under protection too. The thought of returning to the small room didn't seem so bad now.

Alana's kisses started in her curls before working down, ending on her lips. Freddie threw her arms around her neck, tangling her fingers in the darker hair of her were still together, and they were going to stay that way. They had so much left to learn.

Jack Crawford's fake coughing didn't even make them pause to breathe.

Apparently it only took five seconds for the head of the behavioral science unit to become uncomfortable with public displays of affection.


End file.
